


Like a book to the face

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [11]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: (I mean... it's basically just Alfie saying Alfie things), Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, I don't even know how to tag this, M/M, Ohhhh Boy, PWP, Porn with Feelings, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: Somehow, it seems to work just as well in a different context, if the way Tommy is now staring at him is anything to go by – eyes wide and pupil-dark, not intimidated so much as mesmerized. Oh, Alfie thinks, it’s going to be that easy, is it? This is what’s required, here? Because he can definitely do that, no fucking problem at all.In which nobody knows what they're doing, really, but it works out anyway.(Stand-alone, set somewhere in the future.)





	Like a book to the face

Some nights, you go to bed, and the most exciting thing that happens is the fact that you manage to drop a book on your face.

Other times, the person you have been sleeping with on a regular basis for over a year now might show up with their most determined face on, and then you have to patiently wait for thirty minutes or however long it takes, before they eventually decide that they feel like sharing whatever it is they want to try in bed. (All the while, they’re insisting that everything is fucking _normal,_ all right, what the fuck are you even on about.)

But fine, Alfie thinks, that’s why Whisky and long, incoherent rants about the Iliad in comparison to London’s actual high society have been invented, after all. It’s how he’s finally managed to end up here, like this, taking in the view.

It’s a brilliant fucking view, Alfie won’t deny that. (Then again, it’s Tommy Shelby, which means he is actually, _physically_ incapable of not looking eerily beautiful. Alfie is not even being generous here, that is just a bloody fact.) He’s still in his underwear, because he’s the kind of person that cares about these sort of things, while Alfie is sitting on the edge of the mattress completely naked already, because he’s the kind of person that _doesn’t._  

“Right,” Alfie says and places one of Tommy’s hands on the outside of his own thigh. “Anything happens, you… tap out or something, yeah?”

Tommy frowns at him. “Why?”

“Ohh, well, I don’t know, mate,” Alfie says, trying not to sound too sarcastic, since this is supposed to be an intimate moment and whatnot. “In case you can’t bloody breathe, maybe?”

For that, Tommy looks at him like he’s an idiot; the fact that he’s currently kneeling between Alfie’s legs, never mind the fact that he _asked_ to be held down and forced to suck his cock not five minutes ago, miraculously do nothing to dampen his contempt.

“That’s the fucking _point,”_ he says, like Alfie is a particularly slow child.

(And honestly, Alfie thinks. _Honestly._ How the fuck did they even end up having this conversation.)

“Thomas,” he says, in his most authoritative voice – which, he’s been reliably informed, can be pretty fucking authoritative, if he puts his mind to it. “If you think for a fucking _second,_ yeah, that I’m having your entire bloody family come after me, just because you managed to choke to death on my cock or something equally ridiculous? Yeah? You can fucking _think again._ ”

He has straightened up a bit while talking, he realizes, uncurled from the not-quite slump he was sitting in, which… all right. Look. It’s not like Alfie doesn’t know how to be physically intimidating – he manages just fine, thank you very much, half the time without even really having to try. And hell, it’s not like he never deliberately used his size before. (Even though, admittedly, the desired outcome has tended to be somewhat different in the past.)

But somehow, it seems to work just as well in a different context, if the way Tommy is now staring at him is anything to go by – eyes wide and pupil-dark, not intimidated so much as mesmerized. Oh, Alfie thinks, it’s going to be that easy, is it? This is what’s required, here? Because he can definitely do _that,_ no fucking problem at all.

He fits his palm against the back of Tommy’s skull, which is a gesture he gravitates towards anyway; fits his thumb alongside Tommy’s jawline, and tips his chin up without effort, except this time, he overdoes it on purpose, pushing his head up a bit more than can be comfortable. It makes Tommy swallow audibly, throat moving against Alfie’s thumb. 

“You got that?” Alfie asks.

“Yes,” Tommy murmurs hoarsely.

“What was that? Couldn’t fucking hear you.”

“Yes,” Tommy says again – barley louder than before, but fine, Alfie thinks, it’ll do for now.

He’s going to enjoy the hell out of this, he realizes, arousal dripping down his spine and spreading through him like honey. Which might be a strange thing to realize _after_ he’s agreed to do this; but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s made a gut decision, only to have his brain catch up with is own brilliance at a later point in time, and it won’t be the last.

(Also, he’d agree to pretty much anything Tommy Shelby asked for in bed. It’s a problem he’s very well aware of and tries not to think about most of the time, to keep his own sanity intact.)

Because the truth of the matter is this: Obviously he’s thought about it. _Obviously._ Who fucking wouldn’t? Not that he’s ever imagined this exact situation, but the very basic concept of… _making_ Tommy do certain things? He’ll admit to that fantasy and not think twice about it, because honestly, Tommy Shelby, looking like he does, with that added air of defiance he tends to carry around with him like a shroud – it’s an understandable fucking impulse, innit. Alfie’s only human, after all.

If only he had a fucking clue how to go about this – but then again, he figures that playing this by ear and hoping for the best is a valid strategy. (Tried and true, even, because it has already served him well at various other points in his life.)

“Open up,” he says, more for emphasis than anything else, because there is no resistance at all – he slides his cock into Tommy’s mouth slowly, until there is a small, choked off noise and then keeps going for a tiny bit more. It’s _easy,_ is the thing that gets to him the most, that makes his face heat up and heat pool in the pit of his stomach. It’s so fucking _easy,_ when usually, there’s always that initial trace of panic they need to get over.

Since they’ve started doing this, Tommy has gotten pretty great at sucking cock, which… Alfie would like to take some credit for that, thank you very much, because if nothing else, he has always tried to enthusiastically lead by example. But the point is, Alfie’s always been pretty certain that Tommy has never done this with anyone else before. (Alfie has never explicitly asked, because he doesn’t have an actual death wish, but some things are just… very obvious.)

To Tommy’s credit, he gets over it very quickly each and every time, but his first, most basic instinct always, _always_ seems to be alarm. But right now, like this, there’s _nothing_ – he’s pliant and open in a way he never is right at the very start. It’s like they skipped a few steps, Alfie thinks, jumped right into it somewhere in the middle, when things finally start feeling good enough for Tommy to stop overthinking everything and lose some of his inhibitions.

Alfie can feel him swallow with some difficulty, trying and failing to accommodate Alfie’s cock. He grips himself at the base and carefully pulls out again, just has to… collect himself for a second. Could come all over Tommy’s face, he realizes, suddenly. He’s not going to, because this isn’t the point of this particular exercise (and also, he really wants to come down his throat, wants to watch him cough and struggle to swallow everything, wants him fucking _dripping_ with it – and bloody hell, this train of thought isn’t helping at all.)

Tommy makes a low, discontent noise and sways forward. Alfie’s never seen him quite like this, completely mesmerized, almost like he’s drunk. He stops the movement on pure instinct, by tightening his grip around Tommy’s neck; presses his thumb against Tommy’s windpipe, the rest of his fingers digging in. This would be a lot easier if that idiot had enough hair to properly grab, Alfie thinks. He’d just twist his fingers into it, grip tight and never let go again.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going, mate,” he says hoarsely, even though Tommy has stopped moving already, but it doesn’t seem to matter – a shudder goes through him at the question, hips twitching forward a bit. Alfie files the reaction away for later. He draws it out for a bit, guides the head of his cock against Tommy’s mouth with no pressure, not yet, teasing them both with it and making both of them shiver, just because. After all, he can’t just _hand_ Tommy everything he fucking wants, can he. Where’s the fun in that?

It’s a balancing act as much as anything, because Alfie’s working under the assumption that Tommy wants the experience of having a cock shoved down his throat without actually damaging his windpipe. Which, surprisingly, turns out to be the easy part, because the thing is – Alfie might not be very adept at multitasking, but he is fucking _excellent_ at fixating on one single thing with the focus of a thousand burning suns.

When he finally goes for it, he pushes into the tight, wet heat of Tommy’s mouth and doesn’t even bother to pull out all the way again; just gives him enough time to breathe, to relax a little, before he goes back in again. Tommy is sucking him with desperate noises, holding his own as best as he can. Alfie can feel the panicked flutter of his throat, every time he gets too close.

They settle into a lazy rhythm. Tommy is swallowing and swallowing around him, out of reflex more than anything, Alfie suspects, because everything is slippery with spit and just keeps getting slicker. (Probably with pre-come as well, because… _fuck.)_

He could do this forever and die happy, Alfie thinks, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Look at you, bloody hell,” he murmurs, stunned. “You’re so good at this, it’s a shame… s’honestly a shame, right, that you’d waste your fuckin’ time doing anything else…”

It’s a good thing, probably, that this whole operation doesn’t depend on him sounding indifferent, because his voice is giving away everything right now, every little detail. Tommy moans at that, honest to God moans around his cock, which feels incredible and it sounds… _fuck,_ Alfie thinks, all of a sudden flooding with heat, fucking hell, he wants to take him _apart._

“From now on,” he says and his voice is a hitching, scratchy mess, because he’s so turned on he can’t seem to focus on anything except trying to pass it on somehow, on making Tommy _hear_ this, because he instinctively knows that while it may feel like it’s flaying him open, saying all of these things, it’s going to _destroy_ Tommy hearing them.

“From now on, yeah, you’re staying in here, hm? Gonna keep you right here, _exactly_ like that, and we’re gonna do this whenever I fucking feel like it, which will be _all the bloody time,_ don’t you even worry – you’re gonna be on your fuckin’ knees for me every single day, yeah, and you’re gonna bend over every single night-”

Tommy makes a noise that sounds like sob, and wrenches his head away before Alfie can so much as protest, pushes his forehead against the inside of Alfie’s knee and moans, low and helpless, almost like he’s in pain. His eyes are closed tight.

“Oh, _absolutely_ not,” Alfie says viciously, and he’s honestly not sure where this strange feeling of total authority is coming from, but here it is and he’s running with it. “Fuckin’ look at me.”

Despite everything, he’s still floored when Tommy complies instantly, blinking up at him with wide eyes. He looks dazed, lips swollen, mouth shiny with spit, gaze flickering from Alfie’s face down to his cock, like he just can’t help himself. Alfie’s cock fucking _twitches_ at the attention, which would be embarrassing, frankly, if Alfie were the kind of person to give a shit about these kind of things. (Which, for better or worse, he just isn’t.)

He grabs his cock with his free hand and guides himself back into Tommy’s mouth, and there is _still_ no resistance, nothing _at all,_ it’s going to be the fucking _death_ of him- and then, all of a sudden, he’s fucking done – game over, and he’s pushing into the tight, wet heat as deep as he dares, orgasm rushing through him.

 _Oh,_ hell. Fucking _hell._

He’s dimly aware that Tommy is making a lot of choked, gagging noises, but he can’t bring himself to pay any attention right this very second, not when it feels like this. Oh, _God._ He rides it out, head tipped back towards the ceiling, panting helplessly.  

When he comes back to himself, his focus goes back to Tommy automatically and without a conscious decision being made. He’s a mess – his eyes are wet, there’s color high on his cheeks, his mouth is looking slick and bruised. Alfie pushes a thumb against his lower lip, fascinated. He feels satisfied in a bone-deep way.

A second later, he realizes Tommy’s shaking.

“Shhh, s’fine,” he says, immediately and without thinking. “C’mere.”

He slides from the edge of the mattress down to the floor, mindful of his leg – hasn’t been the best of days today, as far as that whole situation is concerned – and pulls at Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy goes immediately, straddles him and sinks down into his lap without protest. He’s visibly hard, even through the fabric of his underwear. Alfie has a sudden thought of telling him to get up, get into bed and go to sleep, just to keep him like that.

“You wanna come?”

Tommy blinks at him, like he hasn’t even considered that possibility until now and inhales deeply through his nose.

“Yes,” he manages, sounding completely destroyed, like somebody actually did try and strangle him, which… is not too far off form the truth, actually.

Alfie tilts his head, mock-casual, and pretends to think about it. “You sure?”

 _“Yes,”_ Tommy says again, a certain whine creeping into his voice. (It only ever happens when he really is on edge, which isn’t that often, and it just might be Alfie’s favorite sound in the whole world. Top three, at the very least.)

“All right, mate,” Alfie says, like he has arrived at this decision after careful consideration. “Go on, then.”

He couldn’t possibly say what makes him do it, but when Tommy looks down, Alfie takes him by the chin und forces his head up again. Tommy stares at him, startled.  

“Don’t need to look, do you,” Alfie tells him. “You know what you’re doing.”

He honestly expected some form of protest or at least an angry look, but instead Tommy just reaches for the hem of his underwear with his eyes glued to Alfie’s face. He’s fumbling, though Alfie can’t tell if it’s because he can’t see or because his hands are shaking. When he manages to shove a hand inside, his eyes flutter shut and he trembles all over, hips rocking into it, and Alfie realizes he’s coming already. This has to be some sort of personal record, he thinks, stunned, because what was that – two seconds? Three?

Tommy pitches forward, pressing himself close, and moans against Alfie’s shoulder; small, frantic sounds, like he doesn’t even have it in him to do more than that right now. It goes on for a while. Alfie wraps an arm around his waist and holds on, tries to make comforting noises. Bloody hell, he thinks, when they’ve made it through the aftershocks and Tommy is still slumped against him, feeling vaguely uneasy, what if he broke him? What is he going to do then?

“Fuckin’ say something,” Tommy eventually mumbles against the side of Alfie’s neck, sounding almost petulant. So Alfie says the first thing that comes to mind, which for some inexplicable fucking reason turns out to be:

“You aware that dogs are born deaf?”

“What?”

“Yeah, mate. Blind, too.”

A few seconds of silence go by.

“I do now,” Tommy says then, sounding a lot more like himself. He’s still staying put, but at least he seems to be alive and well.

“All right?” Alfie asks, because he’s really not complaining, but the floor is neither particularly warm nor particularly comfortable.

“Fuck off,” Tommy says, which is basically confirmation, then adds a lot quieter. “Yes.”

“Yeah, mate,” Alfie decides, feeling relieved. “You’re all right.”

Tommy finally pulls back, pushes himself upright with his hands on Alfie’s shoulders. He still looks a mess and Alfie has to kiss him immediately, can’t even help himself. He pushes his tongue into Tommy’s used, slick mouth and tries to lick the salty taste right out of it. Tommy just lets him, even though he has to be sensitive, clutching at his shoulders; still so goddamn fucking pliant it makes Alfie want to… he doesn’t even know. Do it all over again, maybe. See if Tommy would let him.

“But I mean,” Tommy says, breathless, when they eventually separate. “They have to start hearing at some point, right?”

Alfie blinks at him, confused for a second.

“Yeah,” he says then. “’Course. Otherwise, they’d all be fucking deaf all the time, wouldn’t they.” Then he adds, just in case that wasn’t obvious, “Which they aren’t.”

“Is that a fact,” Tommy says, dead-pan.

Alfie narrows his eyes at him, trying not to be unreasonably offended on behalf of imaginary dogs.

“Yes, mate, it is a bloody fact.”

Tommy doesn’t quite smile at the irritation in his voice, because he hardly every does, but the corner of his mouth tips up, which… isn’t entirely fair, to be perfectly honest.

“If you say so.”

“I do, mate, yeah. I do say so,” Alfie mutters, not really paying attention anymore, and then he has to kiss him again.

This went well, he thinks, especially considering the fact that he basically had no idea what the fuck he was doing. But they can do _this_ again, no fucking problem at all.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not ashamed to admit that the draft title for this was (and still is) _“alfie solomons, natural born dominant and provider of dog facts”_
> 
> Also, I live for the fact that Alfie might initially think that this is all going to be very complicated, only to realize that no, he's perfectly cut out for this already, all he has to do is what he _wants_ to do anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
